I Shall Believe
by WritingMonkey
Summary: You haven't seen her in years.  Now she's back and all you can think is that you don't want to lose her again.  Breyton.
1. Welcome Home

_**A/N: **Okay, so, another story...I actually just started this one a few days ago, I'm not too sure if I like it or not. This is a little bit different from most of my stories in the writing style, but I hope you all like it. Let me know what you think._

--Welcome Home--

You haven't seen her in three years.

That summer after graduation was spent together, you relaxing, her working for that record company. Life was great, just the two of you. But fall drew nearer and you both were to head off to your respective colleges.

Except that didn't happen. Life didn't go as planned. Or as she planned. Sometimes you think for her it never will.

You had only been in New York for a month – studying fashion, of course – when you got the call.

Her father had died. Something about a severe storm out in the middle of the sea. You didn't hear it from her. It had been Haley who told you the news, said you needed to come back home.

And you did. You were right there next to her, when they buried her father, just like you were a little more than a decade ago when it was her mother. She didn't speak, to anyone. But you stayed right by her side, with her through it all, until a week later you had no choice but to leave. You had school to get back to.

And that was it. You never heard from her again, no one had. Well, everyone had gotten the same generic e-mail two weeks after the funeral, saying her thanks and appreciation for attending and how much it meant to her. Though you all knew it wasn't her saying that, it was her just being polite, trying to say what she couldn't.

You found out a few months later, during the first winter break of your college career, that the boy you thought you loved and the girl you loved had broken up before the two of you left for the summer break, which as much as it had hurt in the beginning you thought would never happen, you had accepted it, them. So you were shocked, then confused when he had told you of her decision to end it with him, especially since she never told you.

Over time, you realized more and more how much you really didn't know about your best friend. You see how much you missed at the time, and wish so badly that you could go back to fix what was right in front of you, to do or say the things that would have made things better, simpler, happier, for all. You wish you could have really _seen_ her, when she was right in front of you, for so many years.

So now, three years since you had last seen her, heard from her, she is standing in front of your front door, you think it's a little odd that you aren't more shocked than you are. Or maybe ticked off? She's there, standing, arms hugging herself tightly, head slightly bent to the ground as you stand there, looking at her, not sure of what to say.

Yet for some reason you feel like you knew you'd see her all along.

And then you feel angry because you haven't seen her in so long.

And then you just feel happy because at least you know she's alive, seemingly okay, and here.

But still you don't say anything.

It's summer again. And you're back home in Tree Hill, spending your time just relaxing and shopping when you feel like it. But you mostly spend the time to yourself, or visiting with your old friends, whom you've still kept in contact with, enjoying the family they have become to you.

So when you see her here, on your front walkway as you stand in front of your door which you have now stepped away from some, still silent, you also think that maybe you feel a little more whole, seeing her again. You knew something was missing, and you're thinking maybe she's it, because she's always been there, until she wasn't anymore.

Finally she looks up at you, fear and sorrow in her eyes and she beings to talk. Slowly she gets the beginning awkward 'hello' out of the way and meanders her way to why she is here. Not just here as in on your door step, but here, staying in her house, in Tree Hill, in North Carolina, in front of _you._

She talks. For a long time, rambling and talking in circles some. But she talks, and you wonder who this person is standing before you. Because this person, she is not the person you knew, she isn't your best friend. After all, you never thought she could be this, be telling you these things she is.

And suddenly you are looking at her, really looking, as she nervously hugs herself and fidgets. You're looking at her and seeing how much she has changed, how she hardly looks like her old self. Yet she still looks like the same girl you've known for most of your life.

And as you study her, you let the words that are falling out of her mouth sink in. Really understand them. You listen and are still silent as she tells you about AA and one of the steps involving apologizing and making amends for past mistakes. How she is trying to get her life back together and needs to make things right with you, or at least tell you what she is now, in order to move on. In order to do right by you, and tell you how sorry she is, for everything she thinks you need an apology for, some things you think you don't, don't even care about.

And she's listing some things, events, talking about situations like she has dissected them over and over again in her mind trying to figure out where it all went wrong. She's telling you things, about herself, about how she messed up, over and over, and you're just standing, looking at her, as she tries to avoid eye contact.

You're still listening, but only half paying attention, as she finishes what she has to say, your own mind churning with dozens of questions.

She says she'll be in town for a while; she has a lot of past mistakes to try and make right, things she has to do. You can tell this is hard for her, you can tell in the way she's reacting to you not reacting and how what she is saying really isn't saying much, or the whole truth in some matters. But she's trying, and as you take in all this information, you figure that's the important part.

And you continue to listen as she turns to go and quietly says if you want to talk more or 'whatever' that you know where to find her, for at least a little while.

Then she's walking slowly, almost heavily as if the weight of her world crumbling down around her is resting on her shoulders, and she's not quite half way down the walkway when you finally speak, almost before your mind can catch up to what you're about to say, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Were you in love with me?"

At first you think that to both of you that probably seemed to come way out of left field. And then you wonder when you started using sports analogies.

You're not sure if you meant to say that out loud, but a part of you is glad you did, relieved, because honestly you've been wondering, and with all the reflection you've done over the years, you've wondered things about yourself as well. But once you've said it, you don't dare want to take it back.

And she's still standing where she stopped, back turned as she answers you, shoulders slightly slumped but back rigid with some sort of depleted determination.

"Yes. I was."

And there you have it. But you don't really know what to do with that answer; you are still in shock at seeing her after all this time. But you have to ask the next question before she leaves. Before any more time has passed and you really lose her for good.

"Do you still love me?"

She doesn't seem to have ever expected this question, as her body almost turns around to face you, but moves back just as quick. With a small, disbelieving shaking of her head she replies with a question of her own.

"What does it matter anymore?"

You think she's going to continue walking away and suddenly you feel a restriction in your chest and a fear so overwhelming that you may never ever see her again, that this may be it, that all of your questions will never be answered, that her mantra will become yours. So as she takes her first step you take one more step away from the door, closer to her. And you again stop her with sound of your voice.

"It matters to me. It matters because I haven't seen or heard from my best friend in almost three years and no one knew if you were alive or lying dead in some ditch somewhere. I have been so worried and had this void in my heart because you were missing. So it matters, despite everything, it matters."

You take another step towards her as she remains rooted to her spot. She turns around and you see the few silent tears that have fallen down her face, you see the fear, hesitation, the pain, and regret in her eyes. You see _her_ once again.

"Of course I still love you. How could I not? I can't fix this; I can't make it all better, despite what I'm trying to do. I'm only just getting back on my feet, I can't take any more blows to the gut, so please, just leave it. Just let me try and make my amends, and then I'll leave. I'll leave everyone alone, or keep in touch, whatever you want me to do, but having you know that I love you isn't something I can take right now because it all hurts so much. I almost drank myself into oblivion; I can't even begin to tell you the things I've done these past few years, how I lived, or didn't for that matter. So whatever you're trying to get at right now, please don't, because I can't handle it, please."

You stayed silent.

"Goodbye Brooke."

The words were said with so much emotion that it didn't matter what you were going to say, because you could clearly see she was hurting, and you didn't want to do anything to make her hurt any worse. So you stayed silent, and let her turn to continue walking away, a broken shell of the girl you once knew.

But she was still her.

And as she reached the end of the drive, you yelled out to her, making sure she could here you.

"I'm not going to give up on you Peyton Sawyer! I love you and I'm going to help you with whatever you need. We'll get through this, I believe it. I believe in us, P. Sawyer!"

You were standing a few steps away from your front door. She had once again stopped, this time at the end of your drive way, but she didn't look back. A moment passed and she was on her way again. You watched until you could no longer see her frail form in the distance before you turned back and went into your house, feeling a weight lifted, and the air changing, giving you hope.

Right now all you can think is you're glad she's home.

_**A/N: **So continue, or no?_


	2. Afraid

**_A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who reviewed. I love all of the feedback and again, just, thank you. I hope you like this chapter as much, I have more in the works. I look forward to hearing more from all of you._**

--Afraid--

You haven't seen her in two days.

Two days since she showed up on your door step out of the blue and you found what had been missing in your life. You found her.

Well, maybe not quite yet, but you were one step closer all the same.

And in these past two days you have heard from each one of your closest friends, learning that she saw them all yesterday, briefly, letting them know she was going to be in town for a little while and she would need to talk to them some. Also that she apologized for being gone without any word in all this time.

So you know that she came to see you first, and saw everyone else – Nathan and Haley, Lucas, Karen, even Bevin and Skills – yesterday. But no one has heard anything since, and the day is almost over.

You sigh to yourself as you sit in your room contemplating all that is going on. You're still in somewhat of a shock at the fact that you not only figured out what had been an underlying feeling on your part all those years ago, and hers as well, but that now you know that she still feels the same way, as do you. You couldn't see it any clearer. You are in love with Peyton, and oh how good it feels to just know that, to be able to say it out loud to yourself, confident in your words.

Becoming somewhat restless with all this 'thinking' time you've had in the past few days you decide you should probably leave your house. Maybe go for a drive to clear your mind.

Approximately four minutes and twenty-seven seconds after you get in your car, you realize you are heading to her house. And another few minutes later you slowly pull into her drive way, killing the engine, and get out of your car.

You don't know if she is home. Though you assume she is because her car is parked by the curb. You take a second to wonder why she tends to park on the curb when there is an open drive way to her house right there to park in, but dismiss the thoughts as you step closer to her front door.

If she is home, you don't know what you're going to say to her, why exactly you're here. You just know that you need to be. The shock of seeing her has worn off and now the time to act, to soak it in and make sure she really is here has come. You need to tangibly confirm her reappearance in your life.

So you walk the remaining few feet and ring her door bell. But then you remember that this is Peyton you're dealing with so you try the door knob, but find it locked. So you wait, and then ring the door bell again and knock a few times for added measure. And you wait.

Just as you're about to give up and drive back home, you think you hear the faint sound of music coming from inside. As you try to listen more intently you convince yourself, if for no other reason, that yes, you do hear music coming from inside the house.

You quickly rummage through your purse, trying to find your keys, and once you do, are thankful that you haven't taken that one key you need off in all of the years you've had it. Now you just pray that the locks haven't been changed.

As the key sticks a little you hope this key is the new key you received after that whole mess with the stalker and then when you two were fighting and all that crap. You briefly can't remember if you ever switched out the keys, because honestly, you couldn't recall when you had ever needed it in the first place.

The lock turns and you thank every god you can name off the top of your head as you walk through the door and close it behind you. Breathing a sigh of relief you put your keys away and make that old familiar trek up the stairs, thinking to yourself that you probably walked up to this room more than your own during your teen years. Hell, you probably spent more time in this house than you did your own, including the times you two were fighting. And now, you think despite it all, you wouldn't have it any other way, because she's back now, and hopefully, you can get at least that friendship you once had back.

Rounding the corner you see that same door of hers opened, as was usual, and you note that the same artwork from just before high school ended is still up. For some strange reason you expected this and didn't at the same time. Yes, it's been some years, but she also hasn't actually been here, so why would it change? And you've been here since as well, you came in that week after her father's funeral, and then once more during the weekend you came home right after you had been told that she was gone. You raced up to her room, looking for any sign of her, only to find that everything was in it's place, save a few clothes, a sketch pad, her iPod and, of course, her. But that was then, you can hear the music clearly now, and you believe, with everything you have, that when you walk through her door, you will see her. Because you have to, you don't think your heart could handle it if she was gone again.

So taking a small moment to take a breath and steal yourself from your memories, you step over that threshold and into her room. You fleetingly think that your heart has actually stopped because you don't see her, anywhere. And then as you take another step into the room you can finally breathe because you spot her, on the floor in her closet, looking through some records. And you breathe.

"Peyton…"

Her head snaps up and you can see she has been crying. There is so much sadness in her eyes; you think you might cry too.

And there is a long moment when you just stare into each others eyes, the glistening of new tears matching your own, and you cautiously make your way further into the room, closer to her. You see what else is lying beside her on the closet floor. A photo album, dozens of pictures, sketches, _memories._

Suddenly you're afraid. Like you've never been before. You didn't feel this emotion so strongly before, when she was missing. But now, when she is right in front of you, you feel that fear grip your chest so painfully. You can't lose her again. And you're afraid for her as well, because she looks so fragile, so lost, and you know she might not have the strength to fight through this, to make it back. But you have to make sure she does, believe that she will. Because you can't, _won't_, lose her again.

She looks down at the pile of things in her lap, then back up at you, tears streaming down her face. And you quickly race over to her, dropping to your knees and taking her in your arms, hugging and rocking her, whispering gentle reassurances into her hair, for the both of you.

It's some time later and you realize she has fallen asleep. You brush some hair out of her face and just stare down at the broken girl in your arms. She looks so peaceful and you wish, want so badly, to be able to restore that look upon her waking face.

It's late now, looking out the window you know that the sun must have set hours ago. You shift carefully, trying not to wake her, and become conscious of how bad off she really is, at least physically. She has lost weight, she was skinny before, but now she's even more so. As you wrap one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, you can feel each bone from her spine and ribs so clearly. Lifting her is almost a non-issue, she's so light now.

You carefully rest her down on her bed, taking time to gently pull the covers around her and tuck her in properly, even ending with a kiss on the forehead. She shifts somewhat in her sleep, turns a bit, and murmurs your name into her pillow.

You fight the tear that threatens to fall as this sleeping form before you has managed to melt your heart so easily.

You know you can't leave her alone. Not so much for her own sake, but for yours. You too scared to. If you leave, you might not see her again. And if you leave, it will be your fault. And you already blame yourself enough. So you stay, knowing you can't leave her alone, because you need to be here, and maybe, just maybe, she needs you just as much as you need her. So you stay, and you fall asleep right beside her, knowing that when she wakes up, you'll be here, even though you're afraid, as is she, you'll still be here.

You wouldn't want to be anywhere else at this moment.


	3. You Were Meant For Me

**_A/N: Okay, so, sorry for the delay. I'm now stuck in the next chapter and having some problems so there might be a delay in getting that and the next chapters up as well. I kind of hit a wall, so if the update takes a while, I really apologize. I hope you enjoy this chapter and again thanks to all of you who have given me awesome feedback, I really appreciate it. So, read this, let me know what you think, and cross your fingers for me to help me get inspiration and a little kick in the butt to get those next chapters up here for you! Thanks again._**

--You Were Meant For Me--

You vaguely remember where you are as you wake up to sun shining right in your eyes. You would verbally protest with a groan of some sort except you feel a slender arm snaked around your waist wrap itself a little tighter as you make the slightest of shifts in your newly awakened state. So you stay put, stay silent, as a smile appears on your face.

You revel in the feeling of having her so close to you again. Remembering back many years ago when you would come to her house in the middle of the night, not wanting to stay in your own house because you hated being alone there, or because you couldn't stand hearing your parents fighting, it started when you both were young, though you think you were forced to grow up too fast. And then when it changed into not only wanting to get away, but where you were running towards something, to her The comfort that she brought you, just having that space in her bed, for you to always come to if you wanted, meant so much.

You missed this. Missed this bed, this room, this house, this girl. You missed holding her while the both of you slept. You missed waking up, almost always a little before her, and just reveling in the morning where both of you seemed so peaceful and content wrapped up in the other. You missed watching her shift from sleep to slowly waking up, not wanting to, snuggling closer to you, before finally relenting and opening first one eye, then the other. And on the days she would be laying right next to you, head on your chest, when she would look up at you as she came out of her slumber, she would smile.

You miss that soft smile. That special smile that you were sure only you ever got to see, because that was usually the only time you ever saw it, save a few times when you would catch her staring at you from across the classroom, semi-lost in thought. You wouldn't trade that smile for the world.

And as you lay here, holding her like you used to so many years ago, her still asleep; you can't help but think how obvious it all was back then. You think both of you were probably too naïve or maybe in denial, or you just plain didn't see it then. But now, hindsight or whatever, looking back, it was staring you right in the face. How could you have missed it?

You loved this girl, so much, you knew that, but you didn't know how deep it ran, not until it was too late. But as she moves into you closer, slowly waking up, you know you've been given a second chance, one that you're going to have to fight to hold onto. But you won't let this go, let her go, because you can't. You want to hold onto her like this forever, and somehow, you'll make it happen, because you know it's what you both want, need. You know this is where you are meant to be.

It takes her another few minutes before she finally stirs. She shifts her head a little, you see that one eye open, close, before both open finally and she takes in her surroundings. She doesn't look up at you, but you can still see a small smile play on her lips as she realizes it's you she's holding onto, you who is right there with her. The smile isn't that same one, this one is a little sadder, maybe more reminiscent, some relief and peace, but it's a smile none the less.

And just like that it's gone, and she is sad. But she doesn't move, no, she holds onto you tighter and squeezes her eyes shut trying to stop the slow stream of tears that are threatening to escape. You wrap you arms around her just as tight, reassuring her that you are here, that she will be okay, that whatever it is she needs right now, will be. You'd give her the world if you could, if she wanted it, you'd find a way.

She holds unyielding until she stops crying, as do you with the few tears you shed, and with a voice rough from sleep and emotion, she speaks to you.

"I've missed you…so much."

In this moment you think that's all you've ever wanted to hear, because really, nothing else would have made you feel quite this way, brought this much joy to your heart. She missed you.

"Me too Peyt, so, so much."

And those words couldn't have been truer.


	4. Speak Darkly My Angel

**_A/N: Again, much thanks to all of you who have reviewed, you know who you are and you are awesome! So sorry for the delay on this, I'm working real hard trying to crank out new chapters so if you'll bear with me on the updates I so hope to not disappoint. Read, review, enjoy!_**

--Speak Darkly My Angel--

You're both sitting in her room now, neither speaking, not knowing quite what to say. You're trying to think of something, anything, to break this silence that has left in the wake of the comfort that was the first awakening moments. But that is gone now, it's been nearly twenty minutes and you haven't a clue as to how to start a conversation or anything for that matter, other than to just look at her.

And then there is her. She's sitting there as well, completely awake now, but seemingly lost in her own world. She has that classic brooding look; except now she seems more…you're not quite sure what it is. Maybe something more conflicting or confusing, you don't know. All you can see is that she is trapped in her mind for the moment, and even though she looks slightly troubled, you can't help but think of how gorgeous she looks sitting there. The sun is shining off of her hair making it glow and she just takes your breath away.

Sucking up a breath of air and hopefully some courage and guidance as well, you open your mouth to speak. And you do; only it takes you a few tries of saying her name before she finally snaps out of her reverie and realizes you are talking to her.

"P. Sawyer…we need to talk. You know that, and not just about what you said the other day. We need to talk about us, about where you've been, about what you are going to do now, about getting you through this. No more running okay? Please Peyton; I don't want to lose you again."

She stayed silent for a long time, just sitting there, staring down at her hands, as you look on pleadingly at her. You stand up and move closer to her, taking a seat right next to her on her bed. And you wait again to see if she'll speak, but still she just sits there. So finally, you gently hook a finger under her chin and bring her face up, look her in her eyes, showing her everything you're thinking and feeling, trying to read her as best you can as well. You think it's not as easy as it used to be, but you can still see _her_ in those piercing eyes of hers.

Finally, she moves closer into you, resting her head on your shoulder, letting you hug her, hold her. And you just sit there, holding this girl in your arms. When she pulls away she wipes at her eyes, but you see no tears. Again, you look at her, concern plastered on your face. And as she looks at you, she shakes her head in the affirmative, once, twice for good measure.

"Okay."

There is more waiting before she finally opens her mouth and words start spewing out.

She tells you all about when she left Tree Hill and how she stayed up north, near Boston, for a while, while attending an art school. Not too long after she disappeared to her friends, after the funeral, when she was at school is when she really started drinking heavily. This is something you can't quite grasp, because you've known Peyton for a very long time, and have never known her to be much of a drinker, but you sit and listen patiently, openly, as she tells you of her downfall.

Just before the holiday breaks of that first year of college is when she dropped out, moved in with some not-so-friendly friends who liked to party – hard. Prior to this happening is when she found out about her brother who was declared MIA by the army. Someone had managed to track her down, informing her of the news, and that night she tried to drink herself into oblivion. Two days later she woke up in the hospital from alcohol poisoning, then left school and things only got worse from there.

She's telling you all about the drugs she went back to, that she promised you she would never touch again. And as she does this she is apologizing profusely just so you won't leave her. You reassure her you aren't going anywhere, and tell her to continue the story.

She says she doesn't remember most of the next year or two. She was either too high or too drunk most of the time. She tells you about things she's not proud of; 'boyfriends' that beat her, doing degrading things for the drugs, living on the streets on and off, getting kicked out of shelters, spending a few nights in jail, her so called friends letting her go home with people everyone knew where bad news. Stuff like that. The things she can recall from that time period, she wishes she could forget.

She talks some more of that time, the bits and pieces of being one step above a drunken whore. When she is rambling a bit you think it's cute, that is until you truly listen to what it is she is saying.

She is starting to cry a bit now, and has started pacing as well. She's telling you now about how she hit rock bottom, and you almost want to cover your ears because you don't want to believe your Peyton could have gone through this, been this person.

She's talking now about a little less than a year ago, she had been off of the various drugs for a few months by then, but was still drinking quite heavily. She was staying with this guy and a few of his friends, and one night he gave her to one of his buddies to pay off a drug debt. She says she barely had any idea what was going on, until it was too late. She couldn't stop it. And she tried; she's telling you now how she tried so hard, until finally, all the alcohol and his fists, just made her stop, and she gave up. She hates that she gave up.

She's crying so hard now, and has collapsed next to the wall. You're over there so fast, just cradling her, trying to calm her down and make her feel better. You don't know if you are helping, but you continue to do what you can, just comfort her as best you know how, and she calms.

She pulls herself together again, just barely, and leaves the room for a glass of water. When she comes back she sits next to you on the bed, and after another moment she begins speaking again.

She's telling you that after it was over, how she managed to get away from him, and then proceeded to try and drink herself to death. She went to every bar she could find, could make it to, and drank as much as she could before she finally passed out somewhere. She doesn't know what happened after that. When she woke up next she tells you at first she thought it was the day when she first woke up in the hospital nearly two years previous. But she wasn't that lucky. No, she remembered what little she could, and was told by the nurses and police that she had passed out just after getting in a cab, that she was lucky and he drove her to the hospital.

She tells you she was in a coma for two weeks. She says after seeing what she had become, what she had done, what had been done to her, she couldn't bare to even look at herself. The sober light of day, clear minded, she hated who she was. She had hit her rock bottom, and now she was stuck in the hospital for a while, then begrudgingly allowed the transfer to a rehab facility.

She looks up at you, cautiously looking to see if after all of that, you look at her any differently. But you don't. There is sympathy, and anger for those who hurt her, but you still look at her with all the love you have for her, like you always have, only now less guarded with your feelings for her. You gently stroke her cheek, assuring her it's alright, that she'll be okay, you'll both be okay. She rests her head down on your shoulder and speaks some more, her voice becoming a little horse from all the stress and emotion.

Now she's telling you how she spent three months in rehab, has been clean of drugs for a little over a year, alcohol free for around nine months. Those months in that hospital she tells you how she started to try and put her life back together. How even though she was living on the streets or in dives of apartments for all that time that she is actually quiet set financially due to what she inherited when her father passed. She says she knew all this, but absolutely refused to spend any of that money, or the money she had worked so hard to save for herself for school and the like, on drugs and alcohol. That through her haze in that time, she still kept to that. She tells you that she, with the help of counselors, had contacted the Army for news of Derek, and how she thought she might break all over again when they informed her that he had been found, but was later killed, and she was unreachable at the time.

And as she continues to tell you all of this you remain right by her side, one arm around her for support, just listening to her. You know that for her it must be in some way therapeutic to get this all out, and you are relieved that even though it is painful, that she is telling you, that you are filling in missing pieces so you both can eventually begin to heal.

She finishes telling you about what her life was up until she was released from rehab. You know there is more, but don't have it in you to push right now. Already this conversation, this spilling of her soul, has taken most of the day, and you are both tired.

So, after eating a little something, which you notice took some effort on her part, and getting ready for bed, you both relax into the mattress as best you can. You see her curled up on her side, looking so lonely and breakable. Carefully you move closer to her and cuddle up against her, wrapping your arms around her and holding her close. She turns into you and you notice that she is silently crying a little. You just hold her tighter, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as you run your fingers through her hair and down her back soothingly.

And together, holding onto one another, you fall asleep.

You sleep. And sleep, and sleep, for hours. Both of you, just resting and revitalizing your bodies and mind's. No nightmares, no what-ifs, no nothing plaguing your sleeping states.

You dream. You dream that you are happy, with her, and everything is good, great, and the way you think it should be. And most of all, she is happy, truly happy like you have never seen her before, and you know it's because of you. You have made her this happy in your dream.

Then suddenly you are not apart of the dream anymore, but watching those people from a distance. You see dream you and dream her, in pure bliss, and you think you want to make that reality, you want to give her that peace that just seems to be radiating off of her in waves. Peace and happiness. You're going to help her reach this place, the both of you.

And as you slowly open you're eyes to that bright bane of you're morning existence, you vow that you won't give up one her, that you will always be by her side, in whatever capacity she wants. Because you just want her to be that happy, you just want her here, safe, and happy.

You'll make it happen.


	5. Best Friends

_**A/N:** So sorry for the delay. I seem to have hit a little writer's block but I'm kind of getting back to the story. The next update may be a little while coming, but hopefully it won't be too long. I hope you enjoy and I'll try and get the next chapter to you soon. Let me know what you think._

--Best Friends--

You're nervous. You're back in your car now, driving again to her house. You feel like an entire squad of cheerleaders are doing nothing but somersaults and back handsprings in your stomach. They are unrelenting. This is your stomach on drugs. No, that's not right. This is your stomach on freaked-out-that-she-might-not-be-there-when-you-get-back and some kind of questionable greasy breakfast food. This is you nervous as hell, cursing yourself for leaving in the first place.

But thinking back to only a few hours ago, you are slightly calmed. She said she'd still be there after all. And you trust her, really you do. But still, you can't help but be afraid that she might not be there.

You two took your time getting up. You offered to make her breakfast, to which she politely declined. You asked her if it was due to what she thought of your cooking skills or because she didn't feel like eating. Her answer surprised you; she was completely honest with you and said a simple, 'both.'

You convinced her to eat at least a little cereal; she didn't really have anything else in the house. You made a mental note to go shopping later.

If the two of you hadn't of temporarily moved out of Peyton's at the end of senior year, due to the whole 'Fake Derek' chaos, you know that somewhere in her room you would still have at the very least an overnight bag with some spare clothes of yours. But that mess did happen, and you know you took those things and moved them to the apartment, along with a lot of her things. So when you both made it back up to her room you realize this and after it having been more than a day already since you changed, you feel like you need something clean to wear.

She must have caught on to this as well because she checks her closet and comes out with a slightly sad expression, letting you know nothing of yours is there. And unfortunately for you, and something that you will never, ever, talk about again, she is a size smaller than you – more so now, though – so her clothes wouldn't fit quite right on you. Damn her slender body.

You let her convince you that you should just go back to your place, shower, change, then come back. She even told you that you could bring all the clothes and whatever else you wanted back with you to her house. You had to smile at that. After such an emotional day the day before, at least you knew that she wasn't pushing you away, or running from what you both were feeling. So, you relented and left.

So now, back with the miniature cheerleaders trying to break out of your stomach, you are clean, refreshed, and with a bag of plenty of clothes and necessities, on your way back to her house. To _her._

You smile at that thought of her, as you are finally back at her place, once again climbing those all too familiar steps. And like déjà vu you hear the soft sound of music coming from her room. As you reach her doorway you lean up against it and just listen as you watch her barely sing along while absentmindedly looking through a bag on her bed.

_We were best friends._

_More than best friends._

_Let's do it all again._

_Now I know that I loved her and I wish I had told her._

_But I was too slow it was already over._

_Yeah I was too slow it was already over._

_Let's do it all again._

_Let's do it all again._

You entered the room grabbing her attention just as the song ended. She looked up at you a little startled at first and then went to turn off the music before she turned back around and gave you a small, slightly embarrassed smile.

You ask her about the song. At first she says it's just a song. But you know that's a lie, it's never _just a song_ with her. You tell her this and she knows you are right. She gives you a small smile before she gives a short explanation. She doesn't say much; just that she was listening to some new CD's she picked up recently and that the song stuck with her. You can tell she doesn't want to really explain, you heard the song, you understand.

You always were curious about her obsession with music, and sometimes, you get it. So completely, you feel like you understand everything she has ever tried to explain to you about a song or music in general. But you don't always get to have that insight, you don't always feel it like she does, have it be apart of you like it is her. But it's okay, because at least you get those tiny glimpses, and in those times you feel like you can see deep within her to a part of her soul that no one ever sees, except you, of course.

You walk closer to her and tell her that it's not over. At first she tries to play it off with a sort of confused look on her face, but you both know she knows what you're talking about. When she drops the charade almost immediately and lowers her head you tell her that you may not be able to go back, but you have the past to build on, the now and the future to get back what you had, what you want, what you both feel you need.

Moving closer still, you wait until you have her full attention, your eyes staring directly into hers as you speak to her again.

"It'll never be over Peyton, not between us. We'll get back what we had and more. We'll get there P. Sawyer, you just have to believe it, like I do. Just believe in us."

She shakes her head in understanding as she moves the remaining distance into you and you wrap your arms tightly around her in an embrace you both seem to have been longing for.

As you hold steady for long moments all you can think is that this is home. Standing here, in the arms of the girl you have in some way loved most of your life, having her hold you and you holding her, this is how you wish it could always be. You can tell she feels it too, as she pulls you into her tighter and sighs in contentment.

You both break away some time later, a shy smile on her face, and a peacefully somewhat goofy grin on yours. After looking at you for another moment she looks like she just realized something of extreme importance as she goes back to rummaging through that bag with a tiny scowl marring her features.

You again take a moment to observe her. What is she looking for, what could be causing her this much distress, you wonder? You can only see she is getting slightly more worked up the longer she searches with no success. Slowly, you move over to her, still her hands with your own and tell her to take a breath before you ask what's going on.

And when she has visibly calmed and opens her mouth, you are again met with the fragile girl, this scared and broken side of your Peyton that you hate to see. You wonder how someone who, throughout your life, has been seemingly so strong can be so weak. But you know, you missed the signs when you were younger, and when she would lash out or break down, it was usually only you who saw. But it didn't change the fact that you still thought, and do despite the past few years to this day think, that Peyton Sawyer is one of the strongest people you know. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if it's the strongest that always fall the hardest, as you listen to her speak.

"I…I can't find them. I'm supposed to take them every day, that's what they told me, they said they would help me get better, but I can't find them. I know they were here. And my book, it's not here either. I don't know where I could have put them, that book has everything in it, all my notes and the steps and my plans, everything. If I can't find it…"

"Whoa, whoa sweetie, you need to calm down, okay? Just breathe for a minute. Now what are you looking for, maybe I can help you find them?"

You get her to calm down. She takes a seat on the bed, runs her hands through her ever disheveled looking curls trying to gather herself together. She tells you about the 'them' being anti-depressants. The doctors in the rehabilitation facility had talked to her about them, about her saddened mental state. They encouraged her to speak with the councilors and doctors there during her stay and together they agreed that maybe the pills could help. She thinks they have somewhat, she's not sure though but she is willing to give them a try.

Then she tells you about the book. Her Alcoholics Anonymous book with all of her various scraps of paper that she has written on or collected to help her get through this. She tells you of the things she has written down, the lists she has made, very important stuff. You learn that she has some sketches and a picture of each of her mothers, as well as moments that remind her of you.

All you know right now is that this book she can't find means a lot to her – it means a lot to her recovery as well. As does the medicine you assume. But you know from her explanation that these 'pills' are not from some quack and that these doctors that were trying to help her there were legit.

Keeping her calm, you ask her what else she brought back home with her, if she had more than one bag, where did she last see these things, etc. Getting a stoic, far away look on her face; you watch as she searches her mind for the answers.

Then, suddenly she is up off her bed, out her bedroom door and down the stairs. You follow quickly behind her, slightly concerned. She goes around the first floor, looking in the living room and around the entry way before she makes a swift exit out the front door. You stand stock still for a second before you too are out the door after her.

All you know is that you need to find that book.


	6. Recovery

_**A/N: **So, so sorry for the delay. Excuses being what they are, I'll just let you know all the school mess has been keeping me busy and unfortunately a little bit of writers block and a lack of desire to write period, has kept me away. I hope you enjoy this next installment and I also hope as well to get the next chapter to you sometime within the next week or so. Here's to hoping and enjoy! Reviews appreciated._

--Recovery--

Another day has passed. It's evening now; you're at her house, no intentions of leaving any time soon. You haven't spoken to any of your other friends since the other day, but you are sure they are just as curious as you have been. They don't know what's going on, they aren't sitting here, slowly gathering the pieces from her like you are. You know the time will come when they will receive their answers, but you know that you are the only one who will get the whole truth. You know this because it is the way it has always been, between you and her, and you are glad it has always been like that.

After the frantic search earlier in the day you both had another long talk. This time about the past in terms of her health. She knows what she looks like, she tells you she is aware, but you are still concerned none the less.

But you're getting ahead of yourself here.

She was so upset when she couldn't find that book. You couldn't understand it at first, but when she had told you of the notes and other papers she kept in there you thought, 'what's a few pieces of paper?' Of course, this was all before she had found it.

You had followed her outside as she ran to her car. She jumped in the front seat, looking all around on the car's floor, under the seats, before she popped the trunk and jumped right back out of her car. And her car…you are amazed she still has her precious Mercury classic. You wonder how she has managed to still have it, what with what she has told you over the past few days, but you think you'll save that question for another time, a not so frantic searching time.

She was tossing various items from the trunk when you stepped closer to her and the vehicle, tilted your head a little to look at something that caught your attention in the back seat, and called out to her to stop what she was doing. She did, after a moment and just looked at you, so lost and desperate, but looking at you with something else you couldn't quite make out. Gratefulness? Or maybe something more along the lines of a 'please-help-me-I-know-if-you-do-this-would-be-so-much-easier-and-i-just-need-you-with-me-right-now' kind of look. Yeah, you're starting to think you spend a little too much time in your head these days. You make a mental note to think less, more verbalizing. And maybe stop making 'mental notes,' too.

You pointed to the back seat, where some things seemed to have fallen to the floor and were partially hidden under the seat itself. She followed your gaze and put her hand onto her forehead like she couldn't believe she was so stupid for not looking there. Before she raced over there she tossed everything she had removed back in the trunk, closed it, and gave you a quick hug before she hoped in the back to gather the stray items. She flashed you a brilliant smile as she held up the book for you to see and you couldn't help but think she had never looked more beautiful than in that moment and you smiled right back at her.

And once you saw that book, well, you fully comprehended what was so important about it. You figured that by itself, the book was probably a little less than an inch thick. But with all the papers and what not she had in there, well the book looked more like it was going to explode, easily being three or four times what it should have been. Simply put, it was packed full of things making it differ greatly from an actual book. But what did you really expect, this was Peyton, you have known her forever, when did she not scribble random things down to save and stuff them somewhere? When did she not carry around an extra notebook to classes that had no other purpose but to house doodles and random quotes and lyrics? The book was so her. That book was her bitch.

And after you both came into the house, carrying the reclaimed items she was stressing over, you soon learned that book was also her saving grace. And now you are so thankful she found it, because everything in it has helped to bring her to where she is today, to you.

You vow that you are never going to lose that book.

She told you she wasn't quite ready to show you everything she had, especially in terms of what she kept in that book, but she knew she still had a lot of explaining to do, talking between the both of you. And while hesitant, she was somewhat ready. She told you she thought that because it was you, she was okay with it. Had it been anyone else right now, she's not sure any progress, let alone speaking, would be getting done at all. And you know she's right, that's just how she is, youhave always been her person, and she yours.

She leafed through the first few pages of her tattered, broken and beaten, very well worn book – in case you didn't make that clear before how used and treasured this thing looked – and pulled out a sketch of hers, handing it to you.

You were suddenly taken back to high school, back to a time when you were still trying to be in denial. It didn't matter though what you knew or were internally struggling with concerning your best friend, however you acknowledged it, because you were still going to be right there by her side, no matter what. At least that is what you told yourself, hoped.

The sketch, it takes you right back to a time where you wish you could just go back and smack yourself upside the head for some of the choices you made. But you realize, despite what it may have changed, whether or not things might have been easier, you wouldn't change any of it, because it brought you here. Well…you think maybe you would have stuck with the decision to kick that ass-hat Felix to the curb sooner…live and learn, you guess.

In black and white, you see a distorted, dark view of a high school hallway lined with lockers, one stands out with a light shining over it, and boldly written across it in bright red, the word 'dyke.' You cringe remembering that time. It was so hard for her, you wish you were there for her, like really there, but you feel like you weren't. And of course that stupid excuse for a boyfriend did that to your friend.

This paper though, it holds so much untapped emotion, it speaks of truths no one was ready to face, yet still battled. Looking at this sketch, you know, for her, maybe even for you, that this was the moment when things started to unravel. When life collided with the darkness and pain inside, when she started to break.

She doesn't tell you any of this though. No, you gather all of this from the sketch. Despite everyone's opinion of you, how they all never gave you enough credit, you could see. And she knew it too, that you could read her through her art. She didn't realize this right away, but she got it one day.

You remember, she was staring at you as you bounded into her room, and you stopped briefly to look at one of her latest drawings. You looked over at her, and she looked back at you, with slight confusion before she got it. You can remember that day so well because of what happened next, how she looked away embarrassed, with the cutest blush ever, and changed the subject. And you let her.

What she did tell you, as you still hold the sketch, is that this was her moment. The moment it really hit her, what she felt, what she was. She wasn't ready to accept it, but she embraced it in favor of protecting others, as she proved the next day with her shirt painted like her locker. She herself wasn't ready, but she wouldn't let it take her down. She told you that with that day, she knew she would never be the same again. She said she also knew that something bad was coming.

You stared at the sketch for some time. Finally you gave it back to her and she placed it back in her book, safe with the multitude of others. You store away her semi-omniscient thought for another time.

With some more down time not really doing much but her putting things away and you watching, you now are back to the health issue. You don't know quite how to approach it, but somehow manage to get the topic across in your ramblings and she lets you off easy, immediately telling you she knows what you were getting at.

Leafing through her book, she pulls out a yellow sheet of paper and hands it to you. It's medical, you know that immediately. She tells you it's from her final health check before she was discharged from rehab. As you look it over she points out a few things and tells you that this proves she is for the most part healthy.

That last part is what gets you though, the meaning not fully part. You ask her what it means. She gives you a look and does a motion like, 'can you not see the way I look?' moving her arm up and down her body once. She's skinny, you both know that, a little too skinny. But is she like sick because of it or something? You have so many questions, and you just want them answered. You just don't know how to ask.

She can read the question on your face, so again, she points out a place on this yellow paper before you. It is the final doctors notes, just before a messy signature that you aren't even sure spells anything. In the margin you read:

_Despite the patient being visibly underweight, she seems to be in fair health. The patient has recovered from all drugs and/or alcohol, any substance abuse problems from when she entered and is thriving in her now clean and sober state. The only concern at this point in time would be with the patient's weight, but as it is not dangerously harmful at this time, it is recommended that she seek additional follow up with a physician once released. As no further problems seem apparent, the patient is healthily fit for discharge._

After reading through that you looked at her again. She told you that since being released she has yet to follow up with another doctor, but has gained some weight since. You know her reasoning behind this. She hates hospitals, doctors; you imagine her time in rehab was less than pleasant. You know she is stubborn, but you can be as well.

You'll get her to see a doctor. And from the look she has on her face right now, she knows it too. But she's okay with that, because she tells you that she doesn't want to go alone.

She'll never be alone anymore.

And it is now, in the evening, after the past few days filled with stress and a hell of a lot of emotional overload, that you decide you both need to relax, like really relax and not deal with reality, if possible.

She doesn't want to leave her house. You think of asking her why but stop yourself before the words leave your mouth because you realize you already know why.

She hasn't been home in years, there are demons in this town she has yet to face and you know she is not quite ready. One step out that door and there are people she might run into, places she would have to go, things she would have to see. She would have to face her past and with all of the holes that you know about, the holes she only knows about, the time away and her life here before…well, she just isn't ready for that. Truthfully, you don't know if you are either.

So opting for the easiest way to lay low and not get worked up or relive painful memories, you go out to grab some movies and Chinese food. You will return and the both of you will spend the rest of the day making fun of your favorite 80's classics, and hopefully get her to eat a decent amount as well. You will try and just give her a normal, average, calm night. You will try and give her peace.

Because right now, you know not only would it do you good, but it will be extremely good for her as well.

You just want to give her some semblance of her old life, and tonight, you can make that happen. And in the days to come, you're going to try to put her back together and help her regain her life, however you fit into it.


	7. In The Shadows

_**A/N: **Yes, we all know now that these updates are getting longer apart than what they used to be. I guess the bright side is that I haven't completely abandoned this story, I've just been having some trouble with it. But to all my loyal readers and reviewers, I thank you so much for all of your support and interest. I'm still working on this one and hopefully I'll get the next chapter to you sooner than this one has come. Again, thank you all, enjoy._

--In The Shadows--

It's been a week.

One whole, long, drawn out week.

You're a little stressed, admittedly, but you'd never hold it against her. And it's not because of her you feel this way. It's the situation, the circumstances, the things happening that are getting to you somewhat.

You feel guilty that you are feeling this way.

But she assures you that she is confused and frustrated as well. That she doesn't expect you to stay with her and help her through this at every single step and turn. After all, this will be a long road ahead, getting her life back.

But you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

During the past week you have seen your best friend at her worst. She has put up her walls, tried to push you away, yelled, screamed, blasted music, and cried – doing anything and everything she could think of to just get you to leave her. Because she thought you would be better off with out her. She didn't want you to have to deal with her.

More secrets were revealed in this week.

Well, you're not sure you should call them secrets so much as filling in some of the empty pieces through the years.

You wish things had been better for her.

You wish you could change the past.

You just want her to be better, to not feel the way she does, to not be going through what she is.

In this past week you have learned not about the years she was missing, but the years she was here, right in front of you.

You figure that sometimes in order to move forward, you have to go back.

Or, as she tells you by way of a Stereophonics song, 'you gotta go there to come back.'

However you rationalize or absorb it, all you know is that there is a lot that needs to be sorted through for her to feel like she has told you what she needs to, to get to whatever point she is aiming for.

So this past week, you walk down your combined memory lanes and relive events through her eyes.

This week has been all about digging up the ghosts of the past and trying to finally lay them to rest, peacefully.

And you begin to really see.

One of the things she asked you about was if you remembered that time back when you were both thirteen, when your parents were actually home for more than a week that summer, and your mom took you both to Charlotte for a few days.

And you do, you remember how strange it felt because your mother actually was acting like a mother, like this was how she always was, it was so foreign to you. Well, not really, because for those few years you were friends with Peyton before her mom died, Anna was a mother to you, and you knew what you were missing out on from your own mother. But you did have that for a while; Peyton's mom – she loved you like her own.

So yes, you tell her you remember.

You both sit in silence for a while just remembering what that was like, how Mrs. Davis was suddenly the All-American mom. She took you shopping and to see the sights, whatever you two decided you wanted to do. She even let you two have your own hotel room so that you both could stay up late and watch movies all night, and then do it all again the next night, without bothering her of course. You and Peyton had so much fun those few days with your mom, and though you didn't understand it, why your mother was suddenly doing this and acting this way, you didn't question it.

Of course you found out when you got back why. Your parents then left for the duration of the summer, leaving you with the nanny. They didn't even bother to take you along. You figure this was the last time your mother was a real mom. Before then she had had her moments, few and far between, when she was motherly, as did your father sometimes. But this was the last time. And then they were gone and you figure you probably didn't see them for at least four months after you got back. That was the end of you having parents.

But that's not the point she's getting at here.

Both of your lives, since her mother died, you two were essentially parentless, it was normal for you. You like to think you raised each other seeing as how you spent most of your time at her house, away from your nanny, and while her dad was around more then, you can't really recall him actually being 'there.'

So the point, she gets back to, was the last day of that trip.

And you suddenly have to think hard for a moment trying to figure out what she means.

For the life of you, no matter how hard you try and think back, you just cannot remember that last day. You don't know why, you just can't. You figure it's one of those things that just fell by the wayside of your mind. No biggie, right? Wrong. You are about to find out just how wrong you are.

She stutters a bit and doesn't quite know how to start this next part of memory lane.

You get an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You don't know why, really. Part of you feels like you just know something bad is about to happen, be revealed. And the other part, it senses how Peyton is feeling, how she is sad and torn, already defeated by the past. How she doesn't seem to want to talk about this, but is going to anyway, for whatever reason she thinks she has to.

You urge her to continue…you are anxious to find out what it is that she can remember so clearly, while you haven't the vaguest idea.

She tries to find a way to ease into it, but just ends up diving right in sort of awkwardly and you take a moment to sit silently and just digest the end of what she just said, as it so clearly is screaming at you in your mind.

"…Your mother was screaming at you and was going to hit you, but I stood in front of you, hoping she'd back off, but still she went for it, and ended up hitting me, knocking me back as you caught me…"

You had put your hand up telling her to stop there for a moment, and you are still trying to process this all.

You wonder how it is that you don't remember a single thing about this day that is seemingly haunting her.

You allow her to continue after a few minutes.

You sit perfectly still, trying to absorb every word, every syllable that leaves her mouth.

You try and try to just remember one thing, anything at all about this day she is speaking of. Yet still, it is lost on you.

She tells you your mother seemed drunk, she doesn't remember all the details of why you two went to her hotel suite, probably something you wanted to do that last day. But your mom, she was blasted and in a bad mood.

She tells you of the screaming, at you, for being a spoiled little brat, for being worthless. You figure, given the fact that this is your mother, she had quite a lot more to say, but Peyton is probably trying to spare you, maybe playing this part off as hazy in her mind. Always trying to protect you, you think. You only hope that you have lived up to that for her as well, and if not, you'll try your hardest to make up for it now and in the future.

But back to your mother.

So apparently she's drunk, screaming at you, when you both were thirteen and in Charlotte on this spur of the moment trip – you know, to sum it up.

So…right, the yelling. She tells you that whatever it was – she's not even sure there was an actual reason for this behavior other than the empty mini bar – she's going on and then steps closer and gets within a few feet of the two of you. Well, Peyton says she was a little behind you at that moment, there were reasons why you two didn't spend a whole lot of time at your house when you were kids and into your early teen years when your parents were home – they tended to act like you mother apparently was on this day.

She starts describing the next part like she can see it in perfect clarity right in front of her now.

Your mother was flailing her arms and pointing her finger at you and then she saw her take another step forward as she called you a stupid mistake and raised her hand in a terribly menacing way. She then says she didn't even have to think about what she was about to do, she just stepped in front of you while moving you back behind her in one swift motion and took the blow to the face defiantly while you caught her from stumbling back. As soon as she caught her balance she shouted right back at your mother that she was a horrible mother to even think about hitting her child like that, to treat such a wonderful girl – you – like that, like she was less than her, when she was the best person Peyton knew, her best friend.

You take a slow breathe to continue your absorption.

And another.

She asks you if you want her to continue, and you do. You think you can remember something, but your not quite sure yet.

She goes on to tell you how your mother had a slight shocked look after that and she retreated further into her suite while the two of you went back to your room, you pulling Peyton along by her arm with alarming purpose and speed.

When you made it back, she says you grabbed her and held onto her shoulders, looked her right in the eye making sure you had her attention before she spoke, tears forming in your eyes.

And it is at this moment that you have a sudden flash of the past so overwhelming that the tears start to fall and as she is about to relate what you said, you beat her to it and repeat, word for word what you told her when you were just thirteen.

"Don't you ever do that again! You in no way ever deserve to be hit. You could have been seriously hurt…"

You then wiped away the small amount of blood that had come out of her nose.

And when you started to speak, those words that she obviously remembered so well, she scooted closer to you and wrapped you in a side hug, you resting your head on her shoulder and you grasped her hand beside you.

And you continued.

"…Damn it Peyton, don't ever scare me like that! I can't lose you, I love you! Don't ever put yourself in danger like that again. Promise me, please."

You broke down crying in her arms, then, when you were just barely a teenager. You feel like you want to now, too.

And she promised you then, she promised.

But you both knew that that was one promise that would be broken over and over on both your parts whenever the situation warranted.

Because you would do whatever you could so no one would ever hurt her. And like she did that day, she would try and do the same.

All either of you ever wanted was to protect the other.

Seeing how much just telling that story has taken out of her, you decide, well more like realize, that this really is going to be a long process. It's not going to be quick, or easy, or clean. It will be messy and hard and long. Sometimes painful.

You can tell she didn't really want to dredge up that part of the past, but you know she had to in order to…to what? To move past it, to make you feel worse, to make herself feel worse? You never did get why she brought that up.

So after you both have recovered some from the emotional toll that one rehashing has done, you ask her, you ask her why.

She doesn't have a straight answer right away. She looks at you and starts to say something only to stop and get a pensive look on her face. You figure she is trying to figure out how to explain it maybe.

When she does speak, you give her your full attention. You could never give her anything less.

She says that it's the past. The past is key.

And you have no clue as to what she means.

You see she is confusing her self a little here too.

She tries again. She tells you that it's the past that has made the both of you who you are today. That, maybe, has brought you to where you are now, where she is, has been.

Honestly, you're still a little lost. You just let her continue speaking, knowing that she'll eventually work it out as she goes on.

With a few moments of contemplative silence she informs you that you are her past.

And suddenly you are a little scared that she means that is all you'll ever be.

But she quickly resumes her explanation that is becoming really hard to understand.

She says that, prior to when she 'disappeared' and after you two met in early grade school, there was barely a time that you two weren't together, weren't making memories that have allowed your combined past's to become one. You share most of the same memories, and were always there for one another. Then she tells you you always will be. That right there was what gave you your confidence back, that foreshadowing or hinting at the future, together.

So anyway…oh, hell, you have no idea what the rest of what she said was. It was confusing. The rundown was basically, you both know what happened in the other's lives because you were there for it, so that gives you a strong bond that has always been there…or something along those lines.

But then she was talking about how some things, you weren't around for; you didn't experience with her, and know nothing about. Those are also things that have shaped her, have had great impacts on her mind, her life, and she so wishes that you would have at least known, but she made the choice to keep it away from you, in the shadows.

You feel that sinking in your stomach again because you don't know what she means. But it doesn't sound like most of these are happy memories.

You are about to ask what she means but she once again cuts you off. She tells you that she doesn't want to get into everything now, that she will tell you sometime, but that time is not now. She goes on to say that in addition to those separate past events or whatever is the distortion of memory. Meaning, basically, the deal with the trip to Charlotte. There are some things that you don't remember, or that she remembers in a different view than you might.

Yeah, you're still confused. Dealing with the mind, the past, all of the darkness, the shadows of her mind, your memory, it can have that effect.

You just hope that if – no, when – she tells you more, that you understand it better, that you can properly comfort her the way she needs it.

Because for whatever reason she has to be bringing up scattered happenings from long ago, you know that there is purpose behind it. You know she's trying to work through something and even if you don't get it, you'll help her, be her safety as she sails through the choppy waters of her life and rounds the shadowy corners of time to come out to a calm sea, a bright light of a promising future, a safe present so she can really heal.

You know you'll anchor her, steady her, so she can get there.

So she can heal.


	8. Wave A White Flag

**_A/N: I know, I know, this update was a really long time coming. I'm so sorry. I hope you guys enjoy it just as much as you have the others. Little warning there is some dark content, so just beware. I'm really hoping to crank out the new chapters sooner than the last ones have been coming, so enjoy this and let's hope luck is on my side with some more inspiration and chapters for you, dear readers._**

--Wave A White Flag--

You wake up to another day.

Another day of the sun so rudely blinding you.

Another day that is sure to hold something – good, maybe bad, maybe both – for her, for you.

But it's another day that you have woken up with her in your arms.

And that is what makes every day worth it. Having her there right beside you, sleeping peacefully knowing that your mere presence lulls her into safety. That has been your saving grace through the bumps in the road of the past week or so.

It's another day, so what? You have her in your arms, and you are happy. And you know when she wakes up, and turns to see you, to snuggle a little further into you before fully awakening, that she will be happy too.

But, unfortunately, shadowing this happiness, you know, is reality.

You know that on a few of those prior days, that after those waking moments, there was rarely any more contentment, if any at all for her, until you both went to sleep again. So you are, for a moment, sad because you want her happiness, however fleeting it has been, to last today.

You don't want today to be another dark day.

But you don't always get what you want.

You can't help but let the hope get away from you sometimes. Though you think you should have known better.

You had that pleasure, that bliss, when you woke, and then a short while later when she woke up as well. She had that soft smile on her face, she held you tighter as she tried to hang on to that last bit of sleep. She remained snuggled up in you for a long time, just enjoying you so close, enjoying feeling so at peace. She was happy, you could tell.

But it didn't last.

You wish you knew why.

Sometime later, after you had both gotten up, washed, dressed – all the usual morning stuff – you went downstairs to make the both of you breakfast. This wasn't anything new, you had been doing it nearly everyday for the past, what was it now, eight days, maybe? Nine? You're not sure, but you don't care right now. What you care about is that after you have finished making the eggs and toast, and she has come downstairs, you take in how she looks, and suddenly you have a frown on your face that is matching the one she wears.

She stands there, in the threshold before the kitchen, her arms covered in long sleeves hugging her body. She looks cold, yet it is summer, probably close to 75 or even 80 degrees outside. The house inside isn't any cooler than 71. You know, you checked the thermostat. Yet she still looks so chilled. Her face, somewhat gaunt as if she slept not at all last night, is also a little pale, maybe she's getting sick? You just look at her and know something isn't quite right, and you know she isn't feeling well.

You know today isn't going to be a good day.

The only thing you don't know is what is going on, is this day going to be one of those dark days, or will it just be cloudy with a slight chance of rain?

You think the day ahead would be easier if you knew upfront what was happening inside that head of hers. But would that really prepare you any better? Probably not. You know what you have always known, and what you have promised yourself more so in the past week and however long – that you will be there for her no matter what, to help her however you can.

You'll try and make this a good day.

You'll try and cheer her up or let her scream at you or cry on your shoulder, you'll do anything for her to feel better.

You just hope she let's you.

As she comes in to sit at the table you put a plate in front of her but she makes no move to eat the eggs you have made. You sit next to her and take a few bites before you say anything.

"Not hungry today?"

She dejectedly shakes her head in the negative, arms still hugging her body, eyes downcast to her lap. She looks so wounded and beaten.

Broken.

And you think you break a little inside for her, you know you feel it.

So no, you know today will not be a good day.

After you eat, and she doesn't, you clean up and watch as she continues to sit despondently at the table. You don't know what to do. She seems so deep in this depressive funk or whatever that you honestly are a little scared.

Because you don't know how to help her.

Because you don't know if you can bring her out of it.

Because you don't know if she can come out of it.

Because you don't know what she is capable of.

You ask yourself, have you ever seen a person just give up?

You know the answer is yes, because you've been here with her before. But that was so long ago…a good decade and some change. And you both were different, children. Things were simpler then, to some extent anyway. And now, how do you help her, how do you be there for her when you your self are so damn scared of what's going on?

How do you save someone who has seemingly given up?

Well, you just hope to whatever God or deity or idol you can think of that this won't last. That tomorrow, or the day after, she won't be so bad, she'll be a little happier, the day will be brighter. You hope that this will just be a dark day in a calendar of many…but that it most of all will not swallow her whole.

Because you cannot let that happen.

You know you wouldn't survive it, survive the loss of her.

So you do what you must.

Whether it be out of fear or an inability to fully trust or just plain love and concern – you watch her.

And you silently thank God that you have learned new things about her in the past few days because, however heartbreaking those things have been, had you not, you would not have a new level of concern and you don't know…just something.

You're glad you know because you can help protect her.

And after you have cleaned up from your breakfast, you go to sit in the living room and ask her if she wants to join you, maybe watch some mind numbing television.

She doesn't really answer you, but follows you anyway.

She sits close to you and leans her head on your shoulder as you wrap a protective arm around her.

You hope she feels at least the slightest bit safer or saner, being in your arms. You hope you bring her something as she makes you feel so many things by just the sight of her.

Ten minutes in to a mid-morning talk show you never knew existed and you are starting to wonder how something so boring can even be on the air, you get restless and well, bored.

Your mind and eyes start to drift away from TV and it is in what you will come to remember as the twelfth minute – yeah, you're still doing that whole over-thinking and introverted stuff you were never good at, but think maybe part of it is now slightly helpful because maybe you can understand her a little bit more with this attribute that is so classically her – that you notice her clinging desperately to the end of the sleeves of her top and struggling not to rub her left forearm.

And everything stills for only a moment as you flash on something you were revealed to yesterday before the both of you went to bed, too tired to do much else.

_You slowly walk back into her room after brushing your teeth, exhausted from the day of nothingness._

_Well, not nothingness, because you talked, a lot._

_But you feel like maybe you shouldn't be this tired when all you did was sit around and hold the one you love as both of you broke a little for the past, present, and what hopefully will be a future._

_By the time you both recovered from Charlotte it was already late evening and you figure she either didn't feel like dragging up more unhappy memories or she was just too spent to. Whatever her motives, you talked about little things, happier times._

_Like when you were both eight years old and you stole two packages of gummy worms because they were her favorite candy at the time – the next week it was twizzlers, followed by Pez the following week – while she was creating an unplanned diversion at the arcade Pac-Man game in the corner of the 'Candy! Candy! Candy!' store in the mall._

_You couldn't have planned a better distraction. She was almost screaming at the game in her frustration. It ate her last quarter, and right before she made the new high score, too. In her words, she would have 'so owned that game.'_

_You almost didn't pull off the heist because you were so amused at how funny she looked banging her little fist against the screen, curly blonde locks swaying about and kicking the coin slot repeatedly, all the while using eight year old curse words to try and beat the machine into submission._

_It didn't work. But, on the plus side, you successfully stole the gummy worms, she got pushed out of the store and told not to come back for at least a week unless she wanted to be permanently banned, and you both had a great day to remember, together._

_You figure that was probably the last time you had gummy anything because you can't remember her ever liking that type of candy ever again. _

_You think you'll ask her why she stopped liking those sometime._

_And as you got into bed, her already lying down seemingly lost in thought, you take a moment to admire just how perfect you think she is._

_And you're sure were you to voice those things right now, she would point out that those things are all what she would consider flaws or misperceptions on your part, whatever she could to undo what you see. But those words wouldn't change a thing about how you see or feel about her. _

_Because she's Peyton, and that's all there is to it. You've even been in this situation with her before. For your defense that immediately shut her up and even put a small smile on her face at times, you simply said, 'because it's you.' And that was the end of that._

_Such a simple answer. And you know she believed it wholly, but only because it came from you. Because for her, it was you, as well._

_And as she continued to lay there, absorbed by her own thoughts, you slowly slipped into bed beside her, moving so you were flush against her back, holding her safely in your arms._

_It started off as the smallest of quakes, almost unsure that you felt anything at all. But then you felt another, and another, until you were holding her while she full on shook. _

_You don't know what to do, so you just hold her, whispering anything that comes to mind to try and calm her down. You can't tell if she's crying or not, but you suspect she is. As you too are now shedding a few tears – for your utter helplessness, for her sheer pain and vulnerability._

_And then after she calmed and turned in your arms, was it that she showed you. She showed you a part of herself that scared her, scared you. _

_She told you she was afraid to be alone, afraid of what she was capable of, especially with the way she has been feeling._

_And in shame, she lifted up the hem of her shirt to show you the left side of her abdomen._

_What you saw broke your heart._

_In neat little lines, littered across her side, lay about a dozen scars. Scars she had put there herself._

_And she showed you her arms, both of which held more than few faint lines. But they were so clear to you. Especially the not so slight ones._

_You cried. You cried for her, for what she's been through, things you can't even imagine, things you don't even know about. You cried for yourself, because you didn't know what to do. You cried because you loved her._

_And she told you that she cut herself. Whispered words that didn't need to be said. _

_She told you that it has been a constant battle everyday to not do it. She told you that she wishes that she could just have that, that sense of control, of power, that blade that would take it all away – all the pain and heartache, the loneliness and memories, the demons and nightmares – and just feel some semblance of sanity that the cutting had once brought to her._

And all you can be is scared as you don't know what to do.

You see her tugging on those sleeves, holding them almost as if her very life depended on it. You move your own hands over to still hers and place a hand on her left arm, where the source of the 'issue' seems to be.

You don't know what to expect.

And as you look her in the eyes to tell her that it's okay and no matter what you could never love her any less, you lift the sleeve gently and let out a small breath you didn't know you were holding.

There are no new cuts.

There are no scratches.

There is only mildly irritated skin, from nervous rubbing through a sleeve.

And you feel proud of her, because she is so obviously struggling with this problem, but she has for at least the day overcome it.

She tells you she knew you were worried about what she might find, and that you should be, because this is so very hard for her.

She gives you a weak smile as she leans into you some more and you just hold her tighter.

You hold her like you want to protect her from all of the evils in the world.

From the evils she poses against herself.

You hold her, because you love her, and want to take care of her, and are proud of her, and every other little or big excuse you can think of. Because you can.

And you will protect her.

You will.

**_A/N: You know I thrive on your feedback, I love it oh so much and a superb thank you to any and all of you who have responded to my stories. Thanks!_**


	9. Remember Yesterday

_**A/N: **I know it's been a long time, and I am so sorry for the delay. Unfortunately for me and my bank account, my computer is now pretty worthless. It got a whole bunch of viruses and infections that it had to be reformatted and I lost everything. I mean everything. And even now it is semi functional, so i'll try and get the new stuff out as soon as I can. I'm working on getting a newer better laptop. I hope you all like this next chapter, it's in Peyton's POV so it's a little change. Let me know what you think and thanks to all who have reviewed!_

--Remember Yesterday--

(Peyton's POV)

She's still here.

After everything I've done, everything I've told her, she's still here.

I've tried so hard to push her away – but she stayed.

She's stayed…with me…_for me_.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want her to leave, but I can't help but think that all I'll ever do is drag her down, that I'm no good for her.

God, I have loved Brooke for so long, probably as long as I have known her.

And I really, truly fell in love with her so many years ago…and I do love her, so deeply and entirely, and with everything I have.

But I cause her so much pain. Sometimes I just can't get over that.

So do I reach a point where I just say that I have to let her go, for both our sakes? Or do I let her help me, do I let myself take away from all she could be doing and be right now?

Do I make a point to not push her away, to let her be, of her own accord, let her make her choice, knowing she'd stay?

Do I push away the only person who knows me?

Or do I hold onto that last connection, that love, like it truly is the only good thing in my life – which it is – do I hold on like I want to, need to, like she says she wants me to?

As much as I hate myself, as much as I feel like I am bringing her down, as much as I don't want to…I will.

I'm going to try and trust her fully, to try and let her in more, to just let her do what she wants, because it's what I want.

Because I would have died two years ago if I didn't have the beacon of hope that Brooke has been for me, even when she didn't know it.

……………………………………………

She's sleeping right now, exhausted from yet another day of dealing with me.

And, well, I'm somewhat of an insomniac, it is three in the morning after all.

Last night, God, the look on her face was so heartbreaking after I broke down and told her about the cutting. I don't even know what made me do it. I've just been feeling so down, so off, and it just came out.

I just let it out.

And I asked her to protect me, because I didn't trust myself.

Because I know I can trust her, always have.

Later on, when I showed her the scars that haunted me the most, the ones that were put there by someone other than me, I can't even tell you how broken she looked, for how broken I was.

And we cried.

Those scars that line the inside of my upper thighs, the scars that tell of a struggle, they are what make me want to drink, to snort a line of coke, to cut up my arms so much just so I will never remember or have to see them again.

These are the things that haunt me.

The things I don't know if I can share with her, because I don't know how, because I don't know if I want her to know all of the bad things.

But I share with her what I can, because I know she is trying so hard to help me, and I need to try too.

I know I need to try.

I really, really need to try, for the both of us.

And I need to remember that.

……………………………………………………

Those years I was gone, sometimes I think it's better that there is a lot I don't remember. From what I do know and can recall, I really hope I never learn of the things that are lost.

Because I do remember a hell of a lot of alcohol.

I do remember a hell of a lot of drugs, too.

And I remember abusive boyfriends and 'friends' who would look the other way or didn't even give a damn enough to care. And if they did care…who am I kidding, no one cared. At most they would have been slightly uncomfortable by what went on. No one would so much as raise an eyebrow at the sounds of arguing and obvious cruelty. No, they knew I was being beaten.

I remember no one cared.

I remember not being able to remember.

I remember drinking more and taking more drugs just so I could make it through the physical and emotional pain from those 'boyfriends.'

I remember the pain.

I remember going to sleep at night – sometimes in a bed, in a shelter, once or twice in a jail cell, in a hospital bed, in a run down apartment with several other strung out people, in an alley – and thinking about my old life, wishing I could go back. Praying that if I could just make it through the night, that I would pull myself together and get clean, get sober, get home.

I remember begging and pleading with myself, with God, with alcohol, with my life to just survive a little longer, just so I could see Brooke again, because she was all I really wanted.

I remember clinging to that notion of someday - someday it would happen.

I remember promising myself so many things, only to forget, to never follow through, to back down. To then remembering and hating myself all over again.

I remember being thrown away like trash, and given away like I was someone's possession. Like I was someone's discarded play thing.

And what I remember the most…is that I gave up.

I remember that.

I remember that far more clearly that I wish I did and with too much detail to ever hope to forget.

I can't tell you what it does to me to remember that.

The feeling of someone's hands so rough against my skin tearing at my clothes and flesh. Being held down and struggling against such weight. Ripping buttons and seams, scraping skin and releasing blood. Leaving permanent reminders behind of what no one ever wants to remember.

The massive amounts of alcohol I so desperately went through that night did nothing to erase that pain.

All these things I do remember, I wish were gone. They remain in my head, like some bad nightmare, but they are real. That was my life, for three years.

I know, because I remember.

And if all of that is what I _can_ remember, well I'm glad that there are so many gaps and holes in which time has passed and I have no memory.

Because I don't want to remember.

I am so thankful for that loss of memory.

Probably more thankful than I should be.

……………………………………………

It's morning now.

I've been up most of the night, I think I'll try and sleep some now, before she wakes.

Brooke is already taking on so much dealing with me and all I'm going through right now, she doesn't need to know I've been having trouble sleeping too; she doesn't need more things to worry about.

I just hope everything turns out for the best, I don't think I could take much more devastation in my life right now.

I'm barely hanging on as it is.

But at least on the somewhat bright side, I know I am far better off than I would be either alone or not having the foundation rehab gave me.

As much as I am struggling, as much as it seems I'm headed off the deep end, I still know I'm slowly getting better, I'm slowly becoming grounded and getting back to my old self.

So as I feel I am hanging by a thread, I know, believe, that I am also reaching with all the strength in the world in the right direction, to my safety, my heaven, to life.

And I know this because I have Brooke supporting me. I have my faith in myself and the positives I have gained in the past year. I have my life. And right now, that's more than I thought I'd have not so long ago.

_**A/N: **Again, hit me with some feedback and I'm working at getting a new chapter up to snuff and to you as soon as I can, sorry for the delay._


	10. What A Sight

**_A/N: I know, I know - I suck. It's been such a long time since I've updated and I'm sorry I haven't delivered. I hope his update satisfies and holds you over until I can get the next chapter up, which hopefully won't be anywear near as long a wait as this one has been. So please enjoy and I appreciate any reviews. Again, so sorry for the wait. Thanks._**

--What A Sight--

You've been sitting here for a while now.

Just watching over her as she sleeps.

You know she didn't get much rest last night, because you didn't get much either. You woke up a few times and saw her awake. But you made sure she didn't notice you. You could see she was heavily in thought.

She was just staring out the window up at the night sky; you didn't want to disturb her. So you let her be with her thoughts.

Its mid-morning now, you've been awake for some time, given up on sleep.

Right now, she looks so calm.

You don't want to upset that.

It's been far too long since she has looked so at peace. You hope her outward countenance does not betray what's going on inside that head of hers.

You've been doing some thinking of your own while sitting here. You try and imagine what life must have been like for her over the past few years, but then you start to feel nauseous and you don't like the images that are coming to mind.

And you know your mind hasn't even begun to scratch the depths of what she's been through.

You'd never be able to relate, and you almost selfishly thank God that you don't know. That you haven't been through what she has.

Your buzzing phone brings you out of your inner musings for a moment.

It's Haley – again.

You hadn't heard from any of your other friends since that first call after the arrival of a certain blonde a little over a week ago. That is until Haley called you yesterday; she broke the silence and asked you how Peyton was. And she knew, as you assume everyone else has, that you would be right there with her, right next to her, for whatever 'this' was.

It's the third time she has called, and you don't know quite what to say. Do you tell her about everything that's going on and feel like you're betraying a trust with Peyton?

No, because you would be betraying that trust, you know she doesn't want them to know, not like you know.

So you tell her what little you feel comfortable with, that she's doing okay and you're taking care of her. The bare minimal.

She wants to know more, wants to come see her friend.

You don't know what to say to that.

On the one hand, you feel like you aren't really in any position to tell her that no, she cannot come to see Peyton. Who are you to dictate your friends' lives?

But then you think about it some more, and you realize that you actually do have some say in this matter. Not only did Peyton ask you to protect her, but you have always felt this instinctual obligation deep with in to do what you saw fit when it came to her – to some degree of course along with discretion. And you know you have certainly exercised that 'position' more than a few times in the past. You can make decisions concerning her, it is in not only your rights as a best friend, but also as her _person_, as the one she loves, who you love, as her everything, and her yours.

So yes, you can tell Haley not to come.

Though that doesn't necessarily mean she will listen to you.

And you tell her. You say that you don't think she's up to it quite yet and that maybe some other time, later in the week maybe, it could happen. But now, you just don't think it's in her best interests.

And as you slightly cringe at the brief silence as you wait for her reply, you take a breath to calm yourself and feel totally right and justified in telling this to her.

Because you're the one Peyton trusts. You're the one she wants protecting her. You are her best friend, you are simply hers.

With an understanding breath you almost miss, Haley relents, and tells you that she trusts you and that okay, she won't stop by. She tells you to take care of her – and not to forget about yourself as well – and you easily reply with a simple, 'always.'

She tells you that she knows you are only looking out for her and that she hopes to see the both of you sometime soon. She bids you good luck and good bye and hangs up the phone.

And as you set your cell phone back down, you once again look over at the beautiful figure laying in bed, and send up a silent prayer that you can pull through this, that you don't make any mistakes, that you bring her back to you.

Because you really need her.

And if you lost her…you know you'd lose more than just her, you'd lose yourself as well.

You made your way downstairs to fix yourself something to eat. Even though you knew she needed the food, you didn't make her anything to eat, not today, because you yourself were tired and didn't know how she would be feeling today.

And deciding something so small like that, something that went against your better judgment concerning her health, it made you feel all the more guilty for your perceived lack of being the person she needs you to be.

You know she needs to eat, even if she doesn't feel like it, because she is deficient in the nutrition department and needs to gain some weight. She needs to eat in order to stay on the road to getting healthy.

And you strangely feel like your incapacitating her in this quest.

All because you aren't making her some food while she is still sleeping.

With this thought you realize it's not so much this act that is making you feel this way, but the inability you feel you have to help her. Your fear of letting her down and losing her are starting to gnaw their way into your conscious.

You realize that you have additional struggles to face. Because not only do you need to be strong for her, but you yourself need to be strong for you, so you can be the person she needs.

You need to believe in yourself.

In the slight chaos and ups and downs of the past days, you have let that slip away from you.

You let the one thing that brought you hope dwindle due to the stress, but not anymore. You're going to be the Brooke Davis that you are, throw your shoulders back and hold your head high as you pull yourself together and fight this fire.

Because if you don't you'll lose the person who has meant the most to you in your whole life, who you can't imagine a future without.

But you're not going to let that happen, because you _believe_ it won't.

And you'll let it be known to her as well, and she too will believe – you'll make sure of it.

Yes, you can see the road ahead, and while it may be rough, you can see that it leads to somewhere great, with the two of you happy. You can finally see past today and know, with everything inside of you, that the both of you will make it through this.

You are suddenly brought out of your inner convictions by a pair of arms wrapping around you from behind.

You smile, so big, for what seems like the first time in days. You lean back into the embrace a little and just take a moment to bask in how perfect and right and calming this feels. You wish you could feel this way forever. And you hope you will.

She whispers a good morning into your ear as she continues to hold you and take in the moment.

The sun is shining brightly in through the kitchen windows and door; it is warming the both of you as you stand there rooted to the floor in your embrace, totally content.

And all you can think of is how perfect this moment feels. You know she feels it too, because as she squeezes you just a little tighter, she releases a comfortable sigh and gives you a light kiss to the side of your neck making you feel even more wonderful.

You're not sure how long you were standing there – it could have been a minute, could have been an hour – before she breaks the comfortable silence, though you remain in the same position as she speaks.

She tells you, first and foremost, that today is going to be a good day.

She feels it, just knows.

And that is all you need to hear to make you turn in her embrace with an even bigger smile on your face. You wrap your arms around her neck and give her a light kiss on her lips as you tell her how great that is and how you have missed her like this.

She let's you know that she too has missed the days when she has truly felt like herself and is also glad that even if its only for today, then at least she has today and she has it with you.

Almost as an aside she softly says that she thinks the meds are finally helping. She nearly snorts at the almost absurd nature of this because she's been taking those damn anti-depressants for quite some time now.

You spend some more time just holding her as the both of you milk this moment for all you can. You so desperately want this to last, want this feeling to never go away.

You don't ever want to let her go.

And then a thought pops into your head and you open your mouth to speak.

"Hey, how come you stopped liking gummies?"

You mentally kick yourself for a second because you know you just ruined your moment by speaking.

The utter confusion that has just shown up on her face is plainly clear to you.

"What?"

"You know, like, gummy worms, gummy bears, gummy life savers…when we were eight they were your favorite candy for that one week, and then like, a few days after my little candy store 'theft' you never ate them ever again as far as I can remember."

She's still looking at you like you may have started growing a second head.

"Well…You see…You know it doesn't really matter, I mean what even made you think of that in the first place?"

You can tell she's avoiding the subject and if you were slightly smarter and perhaps more awake, you'd just let this stupid topic drop.

"Oh c'mon Pey, I want to know, please? Please, please, please?"

"Fine. Okay."

Insert happy dance. These are the moments you have missed most over that past three years. The pointless conversations about nothing that you're not really sure how they end up getting started or coming about in any way.

But they are yours and you cherish them.

"So you remember after you stole all that candy and you got yourself like one little bag of something and then you gave me these two absurdly huge bags of gummy worms, one sour and sugar coated, the other just regular gummies, right?"

You nod your head that yes, you remember and for her to continue.

"And I'm amazed how you pulled that off, by the way, I mean how could you have not gotten caught, that was a pretty noticeable amount of stuff you took. But anyway, two days later, that night I was bored and watching some movie, you weren't with me because your parents requested your presence for some dinner party. Well I may have eaten nearly both bags that night. And I ended up getting sick. My dad thought it was some virus or the flu, so he had me stay home that Monday, I told you that's why I wasn't in school. But really I just got sick from all of those gummy worms I ate, my stomach hurt so bad, I haven't been able to even look at gummy anything without remembering how sick those made me. So there you have it. Happy?"

You suppress the slight amount of laughter her story has caused as you reach out and rub your hands up and down her upper arms, trying to get her to put away the little pout she's now aiming at you.

"Peyt, how come you never told me? I'm really sorry you got sick. And you should know better that to try and eat loads of junk without me around."

"I didn't want you to think that you made me sick or were the cause for it, so it was whatever. But please, please, if you ever want to hijack candy for me again, no gummy worms."

"Deal."

You each bask in the last moments of your morning happiness before you sit down to eat.

And surprisingly so does she.

You stare almost in awe, fork with scrambled eggs held half way to your mouth, as she scrapes up the remaining small portion of eggs and grabs a piece of toast then sits down next to you.

Sure, it's very little food, but it is food, none the less.

As she is about to eat, she glances at you and catches your stare. With a small, knowing smile thrown your way, she just shakes her head.

"What? Haven't you ever seen a girl eat breakfast?"

You have to laugh at that. You are just so happy.

And then you're crying. Tears of happiness are slowly making their way down your face and she just leans over to you, brushes a few of them away and gives you a kiss on your cheek.

You smile as she smiles.

"I know. I know, Brooke."

And you know, as does she, that this is progress, this is improvement.

This is hope.


	11. You'll Ask For Me

_**A/N:** Been a while huh? I hope you all like this update, it was a long time coming, and I hope to update again soon. Let me know what you think, good or bad, I look forward to reading what you think. Does it stll seem to be going in the same direction? I think I'm wavering, I don't know, let me know. Enjoy. _

--You'll Ask For Me--

Yesterday was pure bliss.

Out of all of the days she has been back in the past week or two, you have not seen her so happy, so content, so well, as she was yesterday.

And some of that peace, the happiness, seems to have flown over into today.

And you're happy, because she is at least content. She isn't as depressed or pained or guilt ridden as she has been on several days previous.

It's now late morning, _both_ of you have already eaten breakfast and washed up, gotten dressed for the day, and are seemingly ready for whatever the day holds in store for you. You are momentarily taken back to years previous, back when you were in high school, when this was your routine, and have a brief moment of nostalgia, of déjà vu.

This feels right. It feels comfortable.

It feels like home.

You have an easy smile on your face as you just stand in the middle of her room, basking in this remembrance, in this old feeling.

And then your moment is over and more powerful feelings fill your body as she comes into the room, all bouncy curls and equally simple smile gracing her features.

You can feel it now. The peace she brings you.

She goes over to her desk, takes her pills, flips through some pages of her trashed AA book, and takes a seat. Upon releasing a deep breath she looks at a scrap of paper she has removed and looks up at you.

"I know Haley's called a few times, that you've been holding her off. Why don't you call her and see if we can go over and see her and Nathan? I think that would be a good way to spend today. What do you think?"

"As long as you're up for it, it's fine by me. Will you be ready in say, a half hour?"

"Yup."

"Okay then. I'll go give Tutor-wife a call and then I'll be back."

"Oh, Brooke?"

"Yeah sweets?"

She pauses a moment at the pet name. Sure, you've called her by many names over the years, but this one, along with a few others, you have had to hold back on, because you were _only_ friends then. Your already content smile only grows in response to the one she is now wearing – because of _you_.

"I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you being here. How much it means to me. I just, sometimes I feel like I need you so much, and part of me doesn't want to feel like that, like I'm dependent on you. But you being here, it's been helping, you know, and I wouldn't want to be going through this with anyone but you."

"I'm glad you let me be here, and I really wouldn't want to be anywhere else. And no matter how long it takes to get to whatever point you are aiming for, I'll be here, and beyond that. Because I love you. And I need you, too."

You try and hide the slight blush you can feel on your cheeks as you step closer to her to give her a kiss on her own cheek that is slightly red as well, before you leave the room to make the call to Haley.

Yeah, you really like these good days.

She answers on the second ring, her voice sounding eager and surprised that you have called so soon, or maybe that you called at all.

You chat for a minute before getting to the point, telling her this is okay with Peyton, and that you think most of the bad days are behind you. You not naïve enough to think it will be cake from here on out, that it will only be good days to come, but you have a feeling that the scales are tipping in your favor.

"So you're sure?"

"Yes, tutor-wife. We've been having a good few days, and she knows you've been calling, have been worried. She wants to see you and Nathan; she's calm, easy right now. We want to see you guys, so don't worry too much."

"Alright then, how about you come over for lunch, and we'll just take it from there, see how the day unfolds."

"Sounds good. And thank you, Haley."

"You know I'm always here, Brooke. I'll see you in a couple hours, then, okay?"

"Yeah, we'll be there, bye."

You felt like things were maybe starting to finally fall back into place. This feeling is one you're sure you haven't felt in at least three years, probably longer.

Surely not since you and Peyton were last together, last close, like you had once been for such a long time. Like you're moving toward, hopefully beyond, now.

But things change, life gets in the way, death gets in the way, and things happen. You can't be sure, but you think the last time you felt this odd sense of normalcy was as far back as junior year, maybe even when you were sophomores, before all of the stupid crap relentlessly, continuously, tried to tear the two of you apart.

You thank God high school's over.

And you know she does too.

Everyone is probably fairly grateful that the hell known as high school is over.

Some time later you are patiently sitting on the bed waiting for Peyton to finish up in the bathroom. You release a small sigh as you look at your watch wondering what is taking her so long, having never known her to be the type to endlessly primp in front of the mirror – she never needed to, she already looked great.

You stand up and make your way over to the bathroom door, gently knocking and calling out to her, wondering if she's okay, if anything is wrong.

The door slowly opens and you get your answer.

Her head is slightly bent towards the ground but you can still see the tears that are slightly making their way down her face.

She's been crying and you're not sure why, all you know is that you want to make it right, make her feel better.

Reaching out you tilt her head up a bit, so you can look into her eyes as you ask her what's wrong, why she's upset.

"Look at me. I look horrible, none of my clothes fit, I look all emaciated and ghostly. I don't know what I was thinking when I thought I could do this. I haven't even been back for more than two weeks and I think I'm better? Well I'm not, and it's going to take a hell of a lot longer than two weeks. I don't think I can face them, Brooke. What are they going to think, what will they say? I just up and leave, for three years, and come back a mess, like this. Why would they even want to talk to me, let alone see me after all I've done? Why have you? I just, I don't understand, but I don't want you to leave. Just tell me, is it worth it? Am I really worth it?"

You had been waiting for this.

On some level, you knew she was going to break like this.

For as long as you have known her, this has been somewhat of a pattern. She holds too much inside, and even if you get her to talk about whatever it is that is bothering her, she still will carry the weight of it all and then later at some point she would just have a little melt down, just lose it and everything – sometimes stuff in no way related to the problem – would just come pouring out at once in a meltdown.

You're glad that since you have known her all this time that you know how to deal with this to some degree, so you are not completely overwhelmed.

After gently wiping away her tears you give her a hug and then carefully lead her over to her bed and sit her down. You rest on your knees on the floor directly in front of her and take her hands in each of your own, caressing them with your thumbs a moment before you look up into her eyes and begin speaking in a calm, soothing voice, full of certainty, truth, and love.

"Okay, first off I feel you need to hear this before everything else: I love you. You have to know that. And if you weren't sure before, for whatever reason, you know that now. Because I really do, love you, I mean."

You watch closely as a small, watery smile makes its way past her doubts.

"Now, as far as your appearance goes…I personally think you look beautiful. And before you interrupt, yes, you are skinnier than normal, and maybe you do look a little pale. But baby, you are still somewhat sick. You said it yourself, and told me what that doctor said, when you gain some weight and get a little healthier, your color will come back and you won't be this thin. And you'll get there; it'll just take some time. But in case you haven't noticed, you already look better than the when you first came to see me when you got back. As far as your clothes not fitting quite right, that just goes back to you getting healthier, so don't fret on it, alright? We're going to find you a doctor this week and we'll get you back to where you should be in no time. And no matter what, you'll always be beautiful to me, even if you don't think so."

You pause again, making sure you still have her attention, giving her hands a gentle squeeze in reassurance.

"As far as going to see Nathan and Haley today, that is still up to you. If you really don't think you're ready, then we won't go, they'll understand, really. You're making this into a bigger deal than it is. And I know you're not better, I'm not trying to delude myself or you into believing otherwise. But you still need to try and be positive or everything is going to be a lot harder and take a lot longer. Trust me when I say this, I love you and I will protect you from whatever I can. But I'm also going to want you to try here, too. You can't always hide behind me, and as much as I will always be there for you, I realize that I have to let you do things on your own, or without me guarding you. And you may get hurt, you may not always be ready, but it's a risk you sometimes have to take."

Your eyes have lowered to the floor for a moment as you speak, as you too, realize you can't always protect her from the world, from herself. Looking back up you see she has her head slightly tilted to the side, knowing she is really listening to you, as you can see some of that realization reflected back in her eyes.

"Tutor-wife and Hot Shot are our friends. They care about you, they were worried while you were gone and they are just relieved you're home now. They are concerned and want to see you, want to know that you're okay. They aren't going to hold those three years against you, they aren't going to judge you or criticize you or anything like that. Nathan and Haley just want to know that their friend is okay. And yeah, maybe you aren't quite there yet, they'll understand. All any of us want, Peyton, is to know those things. Maybe you can't give any more than that, or even all of it, but just seeing you, that has given us so much peace in the matter. When you were gone…we just missed you so much, and we had nothing. When we didn't know anything, that was really tough, it was hard. Now you're back, just that is enough to ease so much of the worry and fear. So don't be so afraid, okay? It's only Nathan and Haley, it's only your friends, who care about you and love you. If we see them today or next week, that's all it's going to be."

She nods her head in understanding, gripping your hands a little tighter, calming more and more as you speak.

"And lastly, you are absolutely worth it, Peyton. So many times over. Never doubt that. You may not recognize it as clearly as I do, as the others will, but you are everything to me and there is nowhere in this world I would rather be. Sure, things haven't been easy, and they won't always be, but the idea of just leaving you, not caring, not seeing you again, permanently losing you…I just don't like to think about that. You're a part of me, so integral; I'm just not me without you. So whenever you think that you don't deserve the love I have for you, the friendships you have in your life, or anything else, if you truly think that, just remember what I've told you, that you do deserve those things, and are so worth it. And if you still feel down on yourself, come find me, I'll tell you over and over again, as many times as you want. And it will be the truth every single time."

She smiling now, lowing herself to the floor to be closer to you, right in front of you, knees touching. You can see her eyes shining and wipe away a tear just as it starts to fall.

Draping her arms over your shoulders she leans in to give you a kiss, lasting long seconds until she pulls away and leans her head in the crook of your neck, just holding onto you.

You tighten your hold on her, moving your arms around her back, securing her to yourself. You both stay there in the stillness before you speak again.

"So, to sum it up…I love you so very, very much. You will always be the most beautiful thing in the world to me, inside and out. You may not see it, but you'll be healthy again, back to where you were before. If you don't think you're ready to see anyone else yet, that's just fine, we can wait, they will understand. Just remember, they are your friends and they care about you, you don't have to worry so much about seeing them. And you will get better, believe me, and I'll help any way you want me, need me to. And most of all, you are worth it, worth everything in the world. I know you're more pessimistic than optimistic but you shouldn't doubt yourself so much. I love you, I don't like to see you hurting the way you are, so whatever you need, whether it be a hug or a ride somewhere or reassurances, I'll give them to you. I'll be whatever you need."

You take in a breath as you cradle her to you just a little tighter, thinking that you could stay this way forever, just holding her in your arms.

"Now, what do you want to do? You still up for visiting Naley or do you think you need a little more time? And don't worry about anybody but yourself here, what do _you_ want to do?"

She takes a minute to really think about the answer. You watch as she furrows her brow a little and bites her bottom lip, seriously contemplating what she wants to do and trying to reach within herself to find that answer.

"I-I think…I know I want to see them. I do, I really do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. The last time I saw Haley was at the funeral. You know I talked to her about every week after summer was over, before… And Nathan and I had been e-mailing back and forth for a long time, I even got a few after I 'disappeared.' I kept in touch with them, I wanted to, and of course I talked to you like every day, you know, but then my dad died and I didn't know how…So yes, it'll be good to see them."

"Okay then, that's what we'll do. You ready to go?"

"Almost."

You watch as she gets up and walks herself right back into the bathroom. She splashes some water on face, straitens her clothes, and gives herself a final once over before turning off the light and coming to stand beside you.

She gives you a small smile, reaching out to take your hand as she follows you down the stairs. Grabbing her jacket before heading out the door, you look back at her as you both reach her car, a familiar smile adorning your face as well.

It's a sunny day. There's a light breeze and you feel warmth as she gives you a hug and hands her keys to you. Pulling out of the drive way you take her hand give her a kiss before driving off.

And again, she smiles at you.

And again, you are happy and hopeful.

And again, you know everything will be alright.


End file.
